


Substitute

by wheel_pen



Series: Agent and Doctor [19]
Category: The Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:19:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy returns from the EOD mission earlier than scheduled and finds that Rachel is away on vacation. He refuses to trust the substitute doctor sent to treat him, resulting in a serious medical problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Substitute

Tuyen paged Director Quarles from his office. “Sir, evac request from Jeremy Green in Sector 31,” he reported.

“Set it up,” Quarles authorized, then walked out to the monitoring bay. “Status.”

“Message from Green: Mission complete, request evac,” Tuyen relayed. “Location—Sector 31.” A symbol blinked at his exact coordinates on a map.

“He wasn’t supposed to be done for another week,” Quarles commented. With someone else he might be suspicious of the mission’s completeness, but Green tended to be thorough like that. More likely the analysts just underestimated him again in their planning.

Then another thought occurred to him. “When does Dr. Ward get back from her vacation?”

“Thursday,” Tuyen checked. He glanced up uncertainly. “Should I have her brought back, sir?”

“Green didn’t say anything about injuries?” Quarles asked.

“No, sir.”

He considered. “Give his file to Dr. Davis,” he directed. “And send Green her picture, so he doesn’t pull a gun on her.”

“Yes, sir.”

**

Dr. Davis walked into her exam room to see a face familiar only from the pictures in his file. He wore khaki-colored military fatigues, which around here were more likely a disguise than an actual uniform, and his eyes tracked her warily.

“Green?” she confirmed in a business-like tone, glancing up over her glasses when he didn’t respond.

“Yes.”

“I’m Dr. Davis,” she introduced perfunctorily. “Describe your injuries.”

“Where’s Dr. Ward?” he asked instead.

“On vacation,” Dr. Davis told him. Sometimes the agents were jittery about personnel changes, especially right after a mission; understandable, considering the deceptive nature of their work. “ID challenge?” she offered, leafing through his file again.

“No, it’s okay.”

Well, that was a little odd, but whatever. He was probably tired. The agents _did_ get tired, after all. “Do you have any injuries?” she asked again.

“No. Can I go?”

She looked up at him and noticed blood on the side of his face. She walked around him for a better view and he turned his head to follow her. “Look straight ahead,” she instructed, which he did. Dried blood crusted his ear and she pulled on a pair of gloves. “Your right ear is damaged,” she pointed out, picking up a bandage with some forceps.

“Superficial,” he responded, which she saw was not exactly true as she cleaned the area. Unless you thought human ears were a little too smooth around the edges.

“You need stitches,” Dr. Davis assessed.

“No, I don’t,” he countered, shying away from her. “Where did Dr. Ward go on vacation?”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Davis replied, narrowing her eyes slightly. She was no stranger to tough cases, which she assumed was why she’d been assigned this agent. But unfortunately, every tough case was different. She considered sedating him, but he seemed calm enough, if a little fixated and unhelpful.

“Do you have any other injuries?” she persisted.

“No. When will Dr. Ward be back?”

“I don’t know.” Dr. Davis pulled a penlight from her pocket and started to point it at his eyes, but he grabbed her wrist and redirected the light—gently, but with implacable force.

“My eyes are sensitive to light,” he informed her.

“I’m aware of that,” Dr. Davis replied briskly. “I work with other agents here.”

“My eyes are fine.” And something about the way he said that, while staring straight at her with an unblinking intensity bordering on deadness, told her she wasn’t going to be checking them while he was conscious. The sedative was looking like a better and better idea.

“Okay, then,” she agreed, clicking off the penlight. He released her and she stepped back out of arm’s reach. “Do you have any pain? Dizziness? Discomfort?” She laid out the syringe of sedative on her cart.

“No.”

A lot of them said that, actually. Part of their training gone haywire—but then, what wasn’t. “I’m going to sedate you,” Dr. Davis informed him, “and then we’ll go downstairs to the body scanner—“

“No.” She gave him an assessing look. “To both,” he clarified.

He _seemed_ relaxed, but Dr. Davis knew that could be deceptive. “Jeremy, isn’t it?” He cocked his head to the side. “Jeremy, the sedative will make you more comfortable, and the body scanner will show me all your injuries—“

“I know what they do,” he interrupted. “I don’t want them. Can I go back to my room now?”

“Jeremy, there’s no need to be hostile,” Dr. Davis warned him.

**

“Sir, hostility trigger in exam 3,” Halvard announced.

Quarles was not surprised to see Jeremy Green in the room. “ _I’m not being hostile_ ,” Jeremy told Davis flatly. “ _I_ _don’t have any injuries. Can I go?_ ”

On screen Davis turned away to prepare something on her cart. “Where did Dr. Ward go on vacation?” Quarles asked.

“Caribbean cruise with her family, sir,” Tuyen reported. “Should I call her?”

“She’ll be p----d,” Quarles snorted. “Let it play.”

“ _Before you go_ ,” Davis announced on the screen, turning around with a new syringe in her hand, “ _I need to give you a vitamin shot_.” That was just code for a sedative, and a pretty obvious code at that, but it tended to work well on the literal-minded agents.

But Green was, as indicated, a tough case. He grabbed the doctor’s wrist again to stop her. “ _It’s to counter malnourishment from field rations_ ,” Davis assured him.

“ _I’ll eat an orange_ ,” Green shot back.

“ _And it contains an inoculation against whooping cough, which has been increasing in frequency_ —“ Davis tried valiantly.

Green’s look clearly said, who are you trying to kid? He plucked the syringe from her hand and everyone watching on the monitors held their breath. The hand Green held was the one best suited for Davis to reach her panic button, but the security monitors didn’t need the extra prompting.

“Guards, sir?” Halvard asked.

“Put them outside the door,” Quarles confirmed. “But they do _not_ engage until my signal.”

A moment later the nearest guards began to assemble outside Davis’s exam room and Green’s eyes slid sideways to the door, as if he’d heard them. He let the doctor go and deftly dropped the syringe into one of the exam table drawers. “ _I’m not injured_ ,” he repeated resolutely. “ _Can I go?_ ”

There wasn’t much left for Davis to try. “ _Go ahead_ ,” she allowed, rubbing her wrist. Apparently he hadn’t been so careful the second time. Green jumped off the exam table and headed for the door. “ _Come back tomorrow_ ,” the doctor tacked on, a bit ridiculously.

Green gave her a look over his shoulder that might have said, ‘yeah, right,’ then opened the door to face half a dozen guards in the outer office. “Let him through,” Quarles emphasized. “I want to see where he goes.”

The guards stepped back and Green walked through them, wary but restrained, then left the medical zone entirely. “Looks like he’s really heading back to his room,” Tuyen noted.

“Keep an eye on him,” Quarles told them, watching Davis decompress on the exam room monitor. He had a feeling he was not going to enjoy listening to her report.

**

“You read Dr. Zhu’s report on Green?” Delu checked, reaching the next item on the list.

“Something about blowing off appointments and sleeping all the time?” Quarles remembered vaguely. He’d gotten all the intel he needed from Green, which was his primary concern.

“She thinks he’s depressed because he misses Dr. Ward,” Delu added, not sure how the other man was going to take that.

Quarles didn’t _quite_ roll his eyes, but nearly. “When does she get back from vacation?” he wanted to know.

“Thursday,” Delu relayed. “But then she’s leaving again—“

“Oh right. The brother. I guess Green will just have to get along without her,” Quarles judged dryly. “Now about the Bolivia operation…”

**

Leith ripped off his headphones with a noise of disgust, causing the others to stare at him. “One of the agents is puking,” he told them with distaste.

“They’re not supposed to puke,” Kenzie pointed out with a frown, moving to stare over his shoulder at the monitor. “Zoom in on the vomit.”

Leith gave her a look that questioned her sanity, while Kenzie gave him one that suggested he stop being a wuss. Gingerly Leith zoomed the camera in, trying to look at the screen as little as possible. Kenzie stared at it a moment, then grabbed her headset. “Medical emergency. Medical team to Jeremy Green’s quarters. Repeat, medical team to Jeremy Green’s quarters.”

“What for?” Leith wanted to know, unwilling to look at the screen for clues.

Director Quarles stuck his head out of his office. “What’s going on with Jeremy Green?” he demanded.

“He’s throwing up blood, sir,” Kenzie reported, and frankly Leith was glad he _hadn’t_ looked. “Medical team on the way.”

“G-------t,” Quarles muttered.

****

Light swam hazily through Jeremy’s consciousness and he cracked his eyelids slightly, easily identifying his surroundings as a hospital room in the Center. The next thing he spotted was a pair of bare feet propped up on the edge of his bed, attached to bare legs, which were topped by jean shorts and a blindingly pink halter top. Above that, Dr. Ward’s head bobbed lightly in time to the music on her iPod as she read a book with a death-based pun in the title.

Rachel glanced over at Jeremy and paused her music. “Are you awake?” she asked quietly, not wanting to wake him if he was still dozing.

“Yes,” he replied.

“How _long_ have you been awake?” she questioned knowingly, closing her book and setting it aside.

“Seven-point-three minutes.”

She smiled a little. “You’ve been staring at my legs all that time, haven’t you?” she accused.

“You’re not wearing lab-safe footwear,” he complained instead.

Rachel put her legs down so she could sit up more, slipping her feet into a pair of canvas boat shoes which, if not exactly lab-safe, at least had closed toes. She put the iPod on top of her novel and gave Jeremy a stern look.

He hastened to stall her. “How was your vacation, Dr. Ward?”

She humored him. “Very nice. I went on a Caribbean cruise with my parents and my sister. It was for my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary.”

“Your hair and skin have been affected by the sun,” Jeremy noted.

Rachel decided to take this as a compliment on her tan and highlights. “Thank you. I was very careful this time. Normally I burn in the sun.”

“Proper sun protection is important,” Jeremy agreed, obviously searching for some way to extend the lightweight conversation.

But Rachel felt it was time to get to the point. “How do you feel?”

“Generally not well.”

“That’s what happens when you rupture your spleen and decide not to tell anyone about it for days like a total idiot,” she judged coolly.

Jeremy had the sense to look mildly abashed. “I didn’t want to ruin your vacation.” He frowned. “Did you have to come back early?”

“No,” Rachel admitted, “but I’m leaving again after I talk some sense into you.” She brought him some water and sat down on the edge of the bed, declining to notice when his hand ended up on her knee. “You know my brother David?”

“Yes,” Jeremy assured her firmly.

She resisted rolling her eyes; he knew _of_ him. “He works with a military bomb squad in Iraq—“

“Explosive ordnance disposal specialist,” Jeremy corrected.

“That’s right, Snoopy Sam,” Rachel confirmed, knowing he’d read her file. “I’m gonna check your eyes.” She scooted forward to a better distance and his hand slid comfortably up her thigh. “Well, he was wounded in action so they’re sending him home to recuperate, and my sister and I are going to join him at my parents’ house for a few days.” She clicked the penlight off. “That’s a lot of family togetherness in a short amount of time,” she noted dubiously.

“You’ll want to come back soon,” Jeremy suggested hopefully.

This did not have the desired effect on Rachel, however, who narrowed her eyes at him. “So explain to me why you didn’t tell anyone you were in pain, tough guy.”

“I didn’t want to ruin your vacation,” he repeated resolutely, “in case they called you back early.”

“I’m not a surgeon, tiger,” she pointed out. “They wouldn’t have called me back.” She was not actually sure about this but decided that _acting_ like she was, was the better course. “And now you don’t have a spleen. Which is kind of important.”

“It’ll grow back,” Jeremy asserted. Rachel felt this unlikely but was unwilling to debate him after the tooth incident.

“Dr. Davis was here to help you—“

“I didn’t like her,” he interrupted.

“Even so,” Rachel pressed. “Use a little survival instinct. You nearly died, Jeremy.” She put her hand over his on her leg.

“That’s ceased to have much impact on me,” he admitted.

“Yeah, but there’s lots of cooler ways to die,” Rachel joked, darkly.

Jeremy was familiar with many of them. “Dr. Davis overreacted,” he opined. “I wasn’t being hostile.”

“Yeah, I saw the video, buster,” Rachel informed him. If he thought the evidence would support him, he was wrong. “You are a metric _ton_ of hostile, sitting on the edge of the table. Dr. Davis must have nerves of _steel_ , to not freak out the first time you grabbed her.”

“What are _your_ nerves made of?” he asked curiously.

“Well, I’m used to you,” Rachel rationalized. “And I didn’t know any better when I started out. Dr. Davis has been working with agents for years.”

“Not me.”

“You think you are hot stuff, don’t you, soldier boy?” Rachel judged, ruffling his military-cropped haircut. “Well you are not indestructible, and, you know, I can’t be around twenty-four-seven.”

“I finished my mission ahead of schedule,” Jeremy explained.

**

Quarles, Delu, and Dr. Davis paused their conversation to see if Green was going to reveal any classified details about his mission to Dr. Ward. “— _but if I’d stayed, I would’ve had a damaged spleen in hostile territory with inadequate medical facilities_ ,” he assessed.

“ _So glad you solved that problem by returning to advanced medical facilities, and then not telling anyone you were sick_ ,” Ward shot back brightly.

“ _That’s_ how she keeps him in line?” Davis asked, unimpressed. “Silly nicknames, sarcasm, and groping?”

“Well, really—“ Delu started to defend.

“Whatever works,” Quarles shrugged without concern.

**

“So who should be left in charge of you while I’m gone?” Rachel queried Jeremy. “Dr. Davis?”

“I distrust her.”

“There’s a shock,” she acknowledged. “How about Dr. Neil?” Jeremy didn’t know him and thus couldn’t comment. “He’s a nice older gentleman,” Rachel described. “I’m gonna tell him not to take any c—p from you. And if you don’t want to share your feelings with him, get in the d—n body scanner without fuss, okay?” Jeremy gave her a put-upon look, as though this were just too much to ask. “Seriously, bub, I haven’t seen my baby brother in _two years_ , and I don’t want to cut the visit short because you were _inflexible_.”

“I’m flexible,” Jeremy protested. Then he gave it more thought. “How long will you be gone?”

“A week. Can you survive?”

“Yes, but I won’t thrive,” he threatened, and Rachel chuckled even though he was completely serious.

“Listen, tiger, I’m not disrespecting your killer instinct and whatever techno bada—sery you get up to out there—“ she began to explain.

“What?” Jeremy interrupted in total confusion.

She ignored this. “—but for the next week you better be a _total pussycat_.” He drew back slightly from the finger she pointed at him.

“Cats have a high threat—“

“You know what I mean,” Rachel warned. “You need to heal up, and I will be _very upset_ if I find you’ve hurt yourself somehow by premature exercising. Or anything else you shouldn’t be doing. Understand?”

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed quickly. “I think it will take most of the week to regrow my spleen.”

“Well I look forward to seeing the results of that,” Rachel told him dryly. She glanced at her watch. “Should I stay here until you fall asleep?” she offered.

“ _Should_ I fall asleep?” Jeremy hedged.

“It would be nice if you could,” Rachel suggested. “It would help you heal faster.” She moved back to the chair and put her feet up on the bed.

“You’re contaminating the bed with debris from the floor,” he objected, and she smirked and took her shoes back off.

“Better?”

“Your toenails are an unnatural color.”

Rachel chuckled. “It’s a pedicure. I got the tiger stripes just for you.”

“It’s weird,” he judged, but he kept looking at them.

“Sleep,” Rachel told him.

****

The mood was determinedly casual around the patio table as they dished up helpings of potato salad and passed out grilled hamburgers, everyone keeping the conversation light and inconsequential. Hopefully to a _normal_ extent; they didn’t want David to feel like they were doing it just for his sake. Though if he hadn’t been there, or had been there under normal circumstances, there probably would’ve been more bickering and teasing among the three siblings. As it was, though, he got first pick of the hamburgers _and_ the scoop of fruit salad with all the cherries in it, which was enough to make any wounded warrior feel special.

Rachel’s phone buzzed and she was about to just let it go to voicemail when she realized it was her work phone, and it might be important. She tried to peek at the screen discreetly and saw that indeed, it was Jeremy.

“Excuse me a second, I have to take this,” she said, getting up from the table. Her parents flashed her a look. “It’s a patient,” she added, trying not to sound defensive.

“Jeremy!” Eliza predicted cheerfully, daring Rachel to snap at her. She got off with only a narrow look before Rachel walked away to the opposite end of the deck.

“Hey, tiger,” she greeted quietly, glancing back to make sure she was out of earshot of her family. “How are you doing?”

“ _Dr. Neil says I can’t exercise_ ,” Jeremy responded in a pouty tone.

“That’s right, you can’t,” Rachel supported firmly. “And why is that?”

“ _I’m recovering from a serious injury_ ,” Jeremy responded rotely, without feeling.

“That’s right, you are,” she confirmed. “You had a major operation a few days ago, you can’t put additional stress on your body.”

“ _I can’t even swim?_ ” he wheedled. “ _That’s low impact_.”

“No, Jeremy,” she sighed. “You shouldn’t be out of your hospital bed yet.”

There was a pause. “ _Oh_ ,” he replied guiltily.

“ _Are_ you out of your hospital bed?” Rachel asked, dangerously.

“ _I haven’t left the room!_ ” he insisted. “ _Except for medical things_.”

“Are you getting bored?” she checked. “Ask Luis to bring you something to read.”

He did not respond to that. “ _How’s your brother?_ ” he asked instead.

Reflexively Rachel looked back over her shoulder at the patio table. “Oh, he’s okay,” she answered, in a tone that suggested ‘okay’ was not a very high rating. “I’ll tell you about that later.”

“ _Okay_.”

“Are you behaving for Dr. Neil and everyone else?” she questioned.

“ _Yes_.” His tone became vaguely smug. “ _I’m growing my spleen back_.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Really. What makes you say that?”

“ _Dr. Neil saw it on the body scanner_ ,” Jeremy reported. “ _He wanted to operate again to see what it was, but I told him to wait a couple more days and it would look more spleen-like_.”

Rachel could only imagine that conversation, and the look on Dr. Neil’s face. Not to mention the look when Jeremy’s spleen really _did_ grow back—an idea that Rachel was not yet fully committed to, but didn’t want to deny, either. “Does it hurt?” she asked curiously.

“ _It flutters_ ,” Jeremy described, which seemed a little disconcerting. “ _Rosie Valderrama says it sounds like being pregnant._ ”

“Huh,” was all Rachel could think to say to that. Then, “Who?”

“ _One of the nurses_ ,” Jeremy explained. “ _She’s pregnant_.”

Well, it sounded like he was interacting with people around him, and in a relatively good mood, despite the exercise ban. That was important. “Well, I should go,” Rachel told him. “My dinner’s getting cold—“

“ _Oh_.” His tone of disappointment almost made her change her mind. But that would be silly.

“You can call me tomorrow,” she offered quickly, “if you want to.”

“ _Okay_.”

“A little earlier, maybe around three,” she suggested, “if you feel like it.”

“ _Three PM, Eastern time_ ,” Jeremy confirmed.

“Okay. Goodbye.”

She hung up and slipped the phone back into her pocket. “Rach! You eating this burger or not?” David called, prompting her to return a little more quickly across the deck.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she insisted, sitting back down.

“So how’s _Jeremy_ doing?” Eliza teased. “Does he _miss_ you?” Rachel was not going to dignify that with an answer, at least not a verbal one, but Eliza pressed on. “I already told them how he calls you all the time, even when you were staying with me, even when he’s not supposed to.”

“Stop eavesdropping on my conversations!” Rachel hissed, pinching her.

“Ow!” Eliza exclaimed. “She used her nails!”

“Girls,” their mother chided.

“Girls always fight dirty,” David observed with amusement.

“He’s just a little—high maintenance,” Rachel explained defensively. It seemed a terribly inaccurate description of Jeremy, but she couldn’t think of a better one they would understand.

“He’s a patient?” her mother asked carefully, and Rachel cringed slightly.

“More like a co-worker,” she reframed quickly. As a retired physical therapist her mother understood the inappropriate dependence that could develop between patients and caregivers—and Rachel wasn’t sure this was the same sort of situation at all. Though she could see how it might look that way.

“He was seriously hurt recently,” she went on, keeping the details vague, “and he’s just a little jittery right now.”

“Can’t do without ya, huh?” David joked.

“He’ll survive,” Rachel replied, as though it were no big deal.

****

She saw him through the big windows at the entrance before she even walked into the building, pacing back and forth behind the guard station. She just hoped he didn’t try to rush the door when he spotted her. Well, naturally he did, but when she entered she saw him carefully poised behind a line of blue tape on the floor, as if he’d been told under no circumstances to cross it.

“Dr. Ward!” he called immediately.

“Hi, Jeremy,” she responded as she approached the checkpoint. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for you,” he told her, watching eagerly as she sent her bags through the scanner and presented her ID card and fingerprint.

“Good morning, Doug, Joe,” she said to the guards on duty. “He been bugging you for long?”

“Only the last couple of hours,” Doug replied dryly.

“I thought you might be here early,” Jeremy explained.

“Glad you’re back, Dr. Ward,” Joe added, letting her through the gate.

“Thanks, guys—oof!” Jeremy grabbed Rachel as soon as she came within reach and hugged her. The guards watched to make sure she was okay, then shook their heads at each other. “Okay then,” Rachel said, pushing herself out of Jeremy’s grip. She started to pick up her purse from the conveyer belt.

“Can I carry something for you?” Jeremy asked, reaching for her tote bag.

“No,” Rachel denied, taking it herself. “And why is that?”

He thought for a moment. “I’m recovering from a serious injury,” he remembered. “But I’m recovered.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, buster,” Rachel told him as they headed to the second checkpoint that led to the services wing of the building. “Good morning, Phil, Latoya.” This time it was her ID card and a retinal scan—agents didn’t carry ID cards, so Jeremy had to do the retinal scan and a fingerprint check.

“I don’t like that,” Jeremy complained after they passed, his eye watering.

“Poor you,” Rachel said without much sympathy as they walked down the hall. “How did you manage to get as close to the door as checkpoint one without a mission release?” she wanted to know. Normally the agents couldn’t get beyond the second checkpoint.

“I told them I wanted to wait for you,” Jeremy explained. Rachel gave him a look that said there must be more to it. “I was persistent but non-threatening,” he went on, “and I brought them coffee.”

“Well done,” Rachel judged, genuinely impressed. “Good morning, Hector.” Checkpoint three, which led to the medical zone, was ID card, voice print, and signature. Agents could get through with a single physical identification method, like a fingerprint, which Jeremy preferred—the idea being they might be too injured to provide other proof.

They stepped into the elevator that would take them to the floor where Rachel’s office was. “I regrew my spleen,” Jeremy told her, with a touch of pride.

“We are never gonna live that down, are we?” Rachel replied, shaking her head. “Don’t think that means you can still do dumb things with impunity,” she warned. “How did you get the original injury, anyway?”

“I was too close to something that exploded,” Jeremy described, “and I landed wrong.”

“That’ll do it,” she agreed. She started to dig in her tote bag. “Well, since you’ve behaved yourself, I brought you a treat,” she told him, handing him a Tupperware container. “My mom made these.”

He opened the lid and stuffed a brownie in his mouth. “I’m not supposed to have caffeine,” he mumbled around it.

“A little bit is fine,” Rachel decided. “Don’t make a mess.” The elevator deposited them on the correct floor. “Good morning, Eric.” She swiped her ID more to log her presence than to check her identity, though of course a totally fake ID would trigger an alarm. Jeremy swiped his finger over the scanner again.

It buzzed instead of beeping and Eric the guard glanced over at him. Nonchalantly Jeremy licked the brownie off his finger, wiped the brownie off the scanner, and tried again. This time it went through.

Fortunately there were no more ID checks to get to Rachel’s office. “Good morning, Jenny,” she said to the nurse at the desk.

“Good morning, Dr. Ward,” she responded cheerfully. “How was your trip?”

“Oh, it was alright,” Rachel judged. “It was good to see my brother, but maybe a little too much family togetherness overall.”

“Her sister annoys the c—p out of her,” Jeremy deadpanned.

“You don’t have to tell everything you know,” Rachel chided him. “Though it _is_ true.”

Jenny nodded knowingly. “I’ve got your mail and your coffee,” she added.

Rachel’s arms were full already. “I’ll take them,” Jeremy offered, then glanced at Rachel for permission.

“Okay, it probably won’t kill you,” she allowed. “Thanks, Jenny.”

The exam room was unlocked but her office wasn’t—another use for the ID card. “You know, while I was gone,” Rachel said as she settled back into her routine, “not a single person asked me to verify my identity. The closest I came was when I got carded while buying alcohol. And I took that as a compliment.”

“Most forms of identification can be easily faked,” Jeremy agreed, if that could be called agreement. “Personal scent is very difficult to reproduce, however.”

“And no one sniffed me, either,” she noted dryly.

“Most people are very trusting.”

Rachel put her lunch in the fridge, drank some more coffee, and booted up her computer. “Okay, tiger, let’s get you checked out.” In her long list of emails was a link to Jeremy’s updated medical file, annotated by Dr. Neil with the latest scans and test results. Prominently displayed was an image from the body scanner with a blurry object circled and labeled ‘spleen.’ Rachel took their word for it. “Everything here looks very impressive,” she decided.

Jeremy sat dutifully on the exam table, letting her inspect the damage to his ear—now healed beyond notice—and the scar from his surgery, which looked weeks old instead of days. “Very impressive,” she repeated. He healed up fast, all the better to send him out to get hurt again, she thought before she could stop herself.

“How’s your brother?” Jeremy wanted to know.

“Oh, he’s getting along,” Rachel replied, sounding slightly discouraged. “Physically he’ll probably be alright. Maybe a few scars. He doesn’t heal like you do,” she pointed out with a sad smile. “He was, coincidentally, also too close to something that exploded. And I guess he fell into the hands of some insurgents, who roughed him up.” Jeremy nodded soberly as she poked at him. “But psychologically—that’s the bigger problem,” she went on. “I mean, he disarms bombs for a living, how can you _not_ be traumatized by that? And, you know, he thinks he’s _such_ a tough guy—just like you.”

“I’m not tough,” Jeremy claimed, since she seemed to be against that.

“Yes, you’re very in touch with your feelings,” Rachel said dryly, trying not to tease him too much. He was making an attempt, anyway, and wasn’t entirely in control of his own brain.

“I missed you,” he told her with deadly earnestness. “And I…” He paused for some serious introspection. “I missed you a _lot_.”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah, you really dug deep for that, huh?” Fortunately Jeremy took this comment in the affectionate spirit in which it was meant and nodded readily. “Well, I missed you, too,” she assured him, reaching up to ruffle his still-short hair. He slid his arms around her and pulled her into another hug instead.

It lasted longer than she expected, reminding her of how clingy he’d been after his ‘torture’ mission. “Hey, you okay, sweetie?” she asked worriedly.

He started to say something, then let her go instead. “I’m okay, Dr. Ward,” he promised her.


End file.
